


Sleepless Nights Over You

by margesimpson



Series: indulgence [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Not Canon Compliant, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Vignette, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margesimpson/pseuds/margesimpson
Summary: Tyrion returns home to his wife, and memories of critical moments in their second marriage bubble to the surface.





	Sleepless Nights Over You

**Author's Note:**

> Uh lots of notes so maybe read this before deciding to give me harsh (deserved) critiques.
> 
> 1) Season 8 is not accepting the gospel of Sanrion so I had to write self-indulgent fluff for myself. Do not expect this to be a profound reimagining of canon events with intricate details and long dumps of political intrigue so the whole, expansive world makes sense. Just mindless Sanrion fantasies here!  
> 2) I'm not a GoT super-fan so I may get a lot of details wrong. I watched the series through once and am foggy on the plot. I'm very, very sorry if the characters come across as OOC.  
> 3) This is set in a universe where Jon is king, and the Stark girls are still his sisters, most of the events in the actual show happened, except my babies get a happy ending :P  
> 4) This entire thing is un-beta'd, so if you spot any mistakes please point them out so I can fix it in post! It will be much less embarrassing for me that way!  
> 5) I'm a terrible writer and I think my pacing is lacking - so I'm sorry if you get any whiplash from one scene to the next. (Though tbh I feel like that is the GoT experience). Please give me feedback on how to improve that!
> 
> EDIT 30 APRIL 2019: I'm sorry season 8 for doubting you... 3 more episodes to go... Don't let me down.

 

When Tyrion Lannister returns to Winterfell, he first goes to Sansa’s chambers. He doesn't entertain the thought of being welcomed back home by the common folk - he never has been and he won't waste his time expecting to.

 

Least of all to be celebrated for his efforts in the hunt - he has learned to expect no one to think of a dwarf in that manner. (He was also inclined to factor in that he was a Lannister, and that it had been a long time since anyone in Winterfell had been willfully pleased to see a Lannister). 

 

Jon Snow had disagreed with this. “We would have been lost without you,” he told him on their journey home. ( _ Home? _ Tyrion thought.) “Ah yes, I'm sure many ballads will be written of a dwarf and his fierce determination of the exact location of a bear in the woods and telling other men to shoot it with bows and arrows twice the size of him.” Tyrion can never tell if Jon is frowning or if it's just his face. “You know that's not what I meant.”

 

Still, Jon hadn't stopped him from leaving the festivities to climb the stairs. The two share a knowing look before he disappears from view. 

 

“You must be kind to Sansa,” is another thing Jon had said on their journey home. “When am I not?” Tyrion had turned to Jon and received no reply.

 

Tyrion is now standing in front of his wife's chamber and he knocks tentatively on the wood.  He is invited in, and he takes a moment to watch his wife comb her hair from across the room. He finds a faint amusement at the thought that his wife had mistaken him for a maidservant whose one duty in life is to braid. 

 

“I don't know the Lady of Winterfell to be late for a homecoming.”

 

Sansa turns sharply around to look at Tyrion. He could see a brief glimpse of her wet eyes, but her face becomes pinched and red. She squares her shoulders and raises her head. She looks as pissed as vinegar. 

 

“Sansa-”

 

“There was an ambush.”

 

Tyrion stands still and stunned. He doesn't know what to say other than “yes, I know. I was there.”

 

“The letter reported one man injured.”

 

“I know that, too. I wrote it.”

 

Sansa huffs and shifts in her seat. She's trying to not show that she is frustrated, but Tyrion knows her better than she knows. 

 

“Why didn't you say  _ you _ were not injured?” Her voice was strained.

 

“I didn't know if anyone would have perhaps caught the raven before it reached Winterfell, what with the unexpected ambush - I thought it best they didn't know which man to target.”

 

Tyrion was being honest, as he thought it best to be with Sansa, but it's difficult when she's clearly not listening. 

 

“You should have never gone.” 

 

Sansa sweeps her hair back and turns away from him. Tyrion can still see her blinking back tears from her face. 

 

“There's no use arguing over that -”

 

“You promised it would be alright. You lied.”

 

Tyrion sighs. He walks closer to Sansa and takes notice of her fidgeting with her hair as he does so. 

 

“I was wrong, Sansa, I know. But let us not fight over this - I'm here now. Can we focus on that? I'm here.”

 

He reaches and gently rests his hand on the back of her arm. 

 

Sansa stops, and her face softens. She turns to look down into Tyrion’s eyes, and he sees how tired she is. There is a tight pain in his chest at the thought that Sansa must have sat up many nights after receiving the raven. He did not know how to console Sansa in that moment, but he found himself saying 

 

“You hair is so beautiful when loose.” 

 

He found his hand reaching to pet her hair, and her sudden sob caused him to jerk back. He watched her anger crumble and her tears flowing rapidly down her cheeks and onto her lap. Her perfect posture is broken - she arches her back forward and her shoulders shiver. It was as if a flood had cracked down her wall and the water is now streaming through her. She cries like she hadn’t cried in years. Her hitched cries reminds Tyrion of the frightened girl at King’s Landing and it feels like a critical blow to his stomach. 

 

He clutches her shoulders. She looks at him. 

 

Sansa kisses him.

 

…

 

_ They are playing a game of cards on Tyrion’s bed.  _

 

_ Tyrion is sitting cross legged, and Sansa is lying on her side. She had felt lazy that day and for once Tyrion was sick of hearing his own voice during negotiations.  _

 

_ They found each other in the dining hall. Sansa had convinced Tyrion to not drink, and Tyrion had invited Sansa to his chambers while the maidservants redecorated hers.  _

 

_ Sansa’s eyes had drifted from her bad hand to Tyrion. She found herself doing that a lot lately - gazing at Tyrion. She feels something warm stirring in her stomach as she does so. Sansa has easily accepted that she finds him handsome in the many moonturns that has passed since their second wedding. She could no longer understand any of the remarks of Tyrion’s appearance Arya had relayed in her ear from the stables. _

 

_ One of the most ridiculous things Arya had told her were the rumors of Tyrion being a monster that was making rounds in Lannisport after his birth. Sansa knows a thing or two about monsters, and all she saw when she looked at Tyrion was a man. A proper man. A man that...that she… _

 

_ Sansa rested her hand on his. Tyrion’s brow raised at the sight.  _

 

_ “Not exactly a discreet look at my cards, my lady,” he said.  _

 

_ The little light that poured between the curtains bounced off his dark blonde hair. It was as if he had a halo. The scar brought much needed attention to his eyes. She had watched those hands write so many reports, record their days they spent together - she wanted him to write her something. Her cheeks heat at the notion. She doesn’t even know what she would want him to write. _

 

_ “Sansa? Are you alright?”  _

 

_ She squeezed his hand. She rests her head on Tyrion’s pillow. _

 

_ “I want you.” _

 

_ … _

 

_ Arya had sidled up next to Sansa as she took a walk in the godswood as if to join her. What she actually wanted, of course, was idle talk. _

 

_ “You don’t need to birth an heir,” Arya tells her. “Jon said so. One of his will become a Stark.” _

 

_ Sansa smiles devilishly as she glances at her sister. She didn’t feel embarrassment from her sister learning of her coupling as she had thought, but instead she felt quite smug that her sister would consider her motives purely practical. _

 

_ “I know.” _

 

_ Sansa watches the realization of her implication dawn on Arya’s face before she leaves her sister standing, mouth agape in the middle of their holy field. _

 

_ … _

  
  


_ “So, uh.” Bronn whistles. “Are the fires burning below as above?”  _

 

_ Tyrion must really go over Bronn’s euphemisms and when to use them - especially when he’s in the middle of taking a sip of his drink. _

 

_ … _

 

_ Tyrion and Sansa are sitting in the field to watch the stars. Their hands are intwined.  _

 

_ Tyrion had actually wanted to ride with Sansa, and it took her a long string of euphemisms and flustered pacing to tell him that she couldn't possibly ride, because she was no longer bleeding.  _

 

_ The two sat in silence under the stars for a long time. Tyrion had no idea what Sansa must be thinking, but he was contemplating their situation. He could have never predicted himself married to a woman that desired him, for one, and certainly never as a father. Yet here he was, and with a woman he's sure many will attempt to assassinate him for in the future.  _

 

_ He decides that he is content with this, albeit anxious of the possibilities.  _

 

_ Tyrion is more concerned with what Sansa must be thinking. He knows she cares for him. And he knows she wants him in her bed. But he doesn't know if she wants his child, or how she feels being pregnant, or what she must think of giving birth, an experience he's read is a havoc on the woman body, yet romanticized to death.  _

 

_ To show comfort and solidarity, he gently rests his hand on her belly. Her hand is quickly over his and she presses it there.  _

 

_ He expects her to turn to him and pour all her fears of birthing to him, or perhaps to tell him joyfully how happy she is to be with child, albeit a dwarfs child. But instead, she asks _

 

_ “Have you ever written a love letter before?” _

 

_ Tyrion cannot stop the laugh that escapes him. Sansa scowls at him. His hand circles her belly as an apologetic gesture.  _

 

_ “Uh, no, from what I can recall, I have never composed a love note, for anyone, Sansa.” _

 

_ Sansa nods in acknowledgement. Tyrion tilts his head and his hand stops.  _

 

_ “Do you want one?”  _

 

_ “I didn't say anything about that.” _

 

_ “Ah.” _

 

_ The more Tyrion finds that Sansa has grown into a woman, the more he's shown that she's still the teenage girl he knew. He loves her, all the same.  _

 

_ “Have you ever received a love letter?” _

 

_ “No, I have not. Why are you so interested in my past romantic affairs?” _

 

_ Sansa is silent for a moment. Tyrion can't read her expression at all. She looks up at the sky.  _

 

_ “I'm craving goat.” _

 

_ …  _

 

They don't bother undressing Sansa. 

 

Well, the overskirts they don't bother with - she's bare beneath, with Tyrion between her legs. His tongue is focused on her clit, his finger thrusting in and out and seven hells, this the hottest he's ever been. He thinks briefly that this must what a dragon egg feels before it's hatched. He can feel her wet thighs brush against his cheeks and he feels as if he'll drown in Sansa’s ecstasy, and he's content with that. 

 

Sansa’s hand is searching for his head on instinct, and the other she is biting down on to repress her moans. Tyrion can still hear the festivities outside, all the chatter and singing. 

 

No one outside this room had missed him, and he's content with that too. 

 

… 

 

_ Sansa had been in godswood for a long time. She was kneeling beneath the tree. Her hands were held beneath her nose and her eyes closed in thought. Not the wind or cold disturbed her.  _

 

_ But the back of Tyrion’s hand brushing back her hair from her cheek, that made her open her eyes up.  _

 

_ “Now, explain to me what has kept my wife away all morning in godswood.” _

 

_ Sansa smiles at him and then looks back at the branches coated in snow.  _

 

_ “I was praying that our son will be born healthy and happy.” _

 

_ Tyrion had sat next to Sansa, his hand making its way to her swollen belly.  _

 

_ “Oh, you believe it to be a boy? Not a girl? Or a monster?” Tyrion chides, but Sansa had no room for humor in her mind for the moment, as she had been talking to the gods all morning.  _

 

_ “Boy, girl, monster, dragon - I don't care. I'll love our child regardless.”  _

 

_ She turns to look at him pointedly.  _

 

_ “And you must love them especially.” _

 

_ Tyrion breaks their eye contact to instead watch the branches as she did.  _

 

_ “Of course, Sansa. But it won't change the world's mind.” _

 

_ “That's exactly it, Tyrion. I don't care what the world thinks. But a father's word - that means everything to a child.” _

 

_ Tyrion is silent for a moment. He then sits up to give Sansa a chaste kiss.  _

 

_ Perhaps it's the dizziness of pregnancy, but Sansa is hit with a sudden overwhelming affection of domestic life. She feels a stir in her belly.  _

 

_ She imagines bringing her throws of children here years later, and tell them the wonderful fairy story of a lord and a lady kissing under their tree in the dead of winter.  _

 

_ …  _

 

_ There had been a crisis. And, of course, Jon could not only just send some of his men, but himself as well. Tyrion is sure he'll have his share of lectures from both Stark daughters as to how important Jon’s time is and how he mustn't waste it on a small margin of food shortage.  _

 

_ Yet here he was, sitting across from Tyrion in the dining hall.  _

 

_ “You must come with us.” _

 

_ “Excuse me?”  _

 

_ Tyrion had just been pouring milk into his cup. He had promised Sansa to stop drinking for now (especially as she had been in a frantic state at the time) and while it has been trying, he cannot forgive himself if he was even a slightly bit buzzed when he would see his newborn child.  _

 

_ “I need a man I can plan with. I also think it would be a great way to show the people of Winterfell that you are capable as Lord.” _

 

_ “As brilliant as that all sounds, Jon,” Tyrion saw him frown, “you can't expect me to leave my pregnant wife here without me.” _

 

_ Jon looks as if he was about to say something, but he yields. They both knew that she was safe in Winterfell with Arya by her side, but that Tyrion had to be here - for Sansa to have her one dream of having a baby with her husband there, present and enthusiastic, come true.“I suppose you’re right.” _

 

_ “I always am.” _

 

_ They hear a cry from a distance and jerk to their feet. _

 

_ … _

 

Sansa’s head rest on his shoulder as she pumped him. Tyrion turned his head to breathe in the smell of her hair and  _ oh _ how he missed it - how he missed  _ her. _

 

“I’m sorry, Sansa, I’m so sorry,” Tyrion said, exasperated, knowing full well this wasn’t the most appropriate time to be apologizing. 

 

“I love you, Tyrion.”

 

Ah, Tyrion thinks before he comes, she knows how to fiddle him.

 

…

 

_ The two were huddled together on the bed.  _

 

_ News had spread rapidly throughout Winterfell and many had sent condolences in forms of gifts. A few were unfinished baby blankets. _

 

_ Tyrion held her close, stroked her hair and told her how it wasn’t her fault, that they’d try again, and that the sun would rise again tomorrow.  _

 

_ Sansa had shed no tears over the affair. She felt that she had no strength for tears. Her first child was premature, and stillborn. What a miserable funeral that will be. But the little light that had shined from this dark time, for Sansa, was that her and Tyrion’s marriage was still going on strong.  _

 

_ She had heard so many horror stories of pregnancies gone awry and husbands becoming distant, wives bitter and marriages sour. The possibility had plagued her mind even before she was betrothed to Joffrey. But the worst of it was over, and she still wanted and loved Tyrion. And Tyrion was still here and still loved her. They were lovers, but they were especially friends.  _

 

_ “Tell me what could be worse than this.” _

 

_ “What?” Tyrion had looked at her incredulously.  _

 

_ “You’re clever, aren’t you? Tell me a worse tragedy than this. Maybe it will make me feel better.” _

 

_ Tyrion considers this for a moment, and then thinks.  _

 

_ A wry smile creeps on his face. “It  _ could _ be much worse.”  _

 

_ Sansa watches in interest as Tyrion sits up. “You could be in King’s Landing, right now, miserable with - what were they?” He gestures dramatically, his hand raised in the air as if he was holding a goblet. “Magnificent lion cubs.” _

 

_ Sansa snorts. She feels both utter embarrassment and humor in the memory of her younger self refusing her father’s orders because she, indeed, wanted Joffrey Baratheon’s lion cubs.  _

 

_ “Yes, you and your cubs are sitting miserably in the garden. The babes - although rather matured, are still suckling at your teets, as Joffrey insisted because his mother had done so. And he had turned out so wonderfully.”  _

 

_ That had made Sansa laugh - even if it weren’t true, it is just too easy for her to see it. Vividly. She covers her mouth when Tyrion turned to look at her with a smile. _

 

_ “They are all crying - except for you - because the only guard left in King’s Landing has informed you all that King Joffrey, protector of the realm, while gazing into the river, distracted by his own reflection, had been pushed in by a boar and drowned.” _

 

_ Everyone in Winterfell must think their Lady had gone mad with her laughter that night. _

 

_ … _

 

_ There was a hole in one of Tyrion’s vests. Sansa had offered to fix it for him, and Tyrion saw no reason to refuse his wife.  _

 

_ She was in her nightshift, hair loose and arched in her chair over Tyrion’s vest. She had no motivation to dress up nowadays. Tyrion thought she was absolutely stunning, nonetheless. He thought of how she had so many gruelling sewing lessons in her youth to do just this for her husband. (Yet no lessons in the human anatomy or coupling). He was happy she could finally put it to use. _

 

_ “You look beautiful.”  _

 

_ “When do you not say that?” _

 

_ “Never, I hope.” _

 

_ Sansa smiles, weakly, but it’s still there. Tyrion wishes he could use his years of reading poetry to string together the perfect sonnet of what Sansa meant to him, but he always found himself flustered, or utterly drunk on love. He curses Cersei for ruining the analogy of a dove - it describes Sansa so well. _

 

_ “You look handsome.”  _

 

_ “I’ve never heard you say that before.” _

 

_ “Well,” she brushes her thumb over the newly sewn direwolf, “things change.” _

 

_ … _

 

Sansa finds Jon alone in the dining hall, sans the maidservants collecting the dirty plates and wiping the tabletops.  He gives her a bemused look. “You know how difficult it was to explain to my men that Lady Winterfell was much too preoccupied to join in the festivities while keeping my composure?”

 

“I’m sure a king of your stature could handle it smoothly.” Sansa seats herself across from him. “I see you’ve grown a sense of humor with Tyrion around. Speaking of which - where is he?”

 

“Unpacking? Sleeping? I don’t know. I asked him to join me but it looked as if he was searching something.” 

 

“I think I know what that is.” 

 

Jon searched and then pulled what looked to be an envelope from his pockets. “He dropped this on the stairs. He’s lucky I got it before the curious children always asking of ‘the little man’ did.” 

 

Sansa takes the envelope from him and instantly recognised her handwriting.  _ Tyrion Stark,  _ it said. She knew exactly what the contents were inside. 

 

“I didn’t know he took it with him.”

 

“Kept it close to his heart at all times. You have no idea how many sleepless nights I had found him sitting up reading that over and over.”

 

She really didn’t. Perhaps he was asleep in her chamber. Sansa’s thumb traces the creases.

 

…

 

_ Sansa approached Tyrion as he wrote up his last draft for the proposal of the hunt. Sansa had no longer wore black and she had requested for his inappropriate jokes much less. It had been two moonturns, and with the food shortage becoming more dire... Tyrion decided it was time, and promised Sansa (repeatedly) that all will be fine. She would not lose their baby  _ and _ him in one year, he swore.  _

 

_ Something tells him that this is not what she wanted to talk about. _

 

_ She silently hands him an envelope, and he takes it with a suspicious glance at her muted face.  _

 

_ Sansa continues to be silent as Tyrion opens the envelope and unfolds its content. She wrings her hands and looks to her shoes as he begins reading. And it dawns on him. _

 

_ A love letter. _

 

_ That’s what this was.  _

 

_ As he lowers the letter to rest on the tabletop, Sansa shifts where she stands. “I began writing it ages ago, so there are mentions of our child. Sorry for that.” _

 

_ Tyrion says nothing. For once, he has nothing to say. Sansa becomes more visibly uneasy.  _

 

_ “I know this must seem...childish. I...I apologize. I know you must think this adolescent, romantic gesture silly - I just did not know what other way to tell you how I feel. I can’t sing. I’m not that...experienced...in coupling, as we know. And cooking and sewing seemed so...oh, I don’t know.” Sansa’s face is red and she doesn’t know where to look.  _

 

_ “I just thought you would appreciate it more if it were...written.” Tyrion wonders how much it must be both thrilling yet scary for Sansa to be so open to her husband for once. She sighs and her face looks resigned as she looks at him one last time. “Go ahead, chastise me, I don’t mind.” Sansa shrugged, and looks as if she was about to step back, but Tyrion grabbed her sleeve.  _

 

_ “No, Sansa, I could never. This is...I don’t...I-”  _

 

_ That was the first time Sansa had ever seen her husband weep.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
